


shameful company

by Ejunkiet



Series: pearls and monopoly money [3]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Actions and their consequences, Anatomy of a scene, F/M, Rio's perspective, Season 1 Finale, Snapshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 13:25:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18262202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/Ejunkiet
Summary: His finger is on the trigger, his other hand wrapped tightly around the neck of the man she married - the man whose face he's pressing into the table -  and he thinks about it.Thinks about actions and their consequences. Eye for an eye, and all that shit.





	shameful company

**Author's Note:**

> So, Rio's perspective. Title comes from the song by 'Rainbow kitten surprise', which is my favourite band at the moment, and you should definitely give them a listen.

His finger is on the trigger, his other hand wrapped tightly around the neck of the man she married - the man whose face he's pressing into the table -  and he thinks about it.

Thinks about actions and their consequences. Eye for an eye, and all that shit.

He thinks back to that moment at the warehouse where he'd told her they were done, over, and how that was supposed to be it. 

(He'd gotten that so fucking wrong.)

\--

Her house is the first stop he makes after his lawyer posts his bail.

He's been on edge since his boys had picked him up from the station, his grip tight on his piece in the backseat, pressing the cold metal into his palms until the familiar sensation works to cool some of the anger simmering beneath his skin  but it’s not enough to settle him completely - no way _near_ enough.

He'd let her get to him. He was lenient and gave an inch, and she and the other bitches had screwed him. 

A key clicks in the lock, and the muscles beneath his hand tighten, the man - her husband - straining against his grip until Rio manhandles him back onto the table. It's easy enough - the guy is soft around the middle, and he figures there isn't much need for physical fitness in the sales business. 

He calls out, pitching his voice just loud enough for her to hear him over the sound of the lock.

“Hey honey, we're home.”

Her footsteps falter, stuttering against the hardwood floors before she rounds the corner. When their eyes meet, the adrenaline hits him like lightning, and he lets his lips curl into a smile, lets it grow wide, showing his teeth.

“You miss me?”

\--

She doesn't waver. Not like she should - and really, he's shown her enough of himself now that she should realise just what she's dealing with, what she's gotten herself into.

“Are you going to kill us?”

Her voice shakes, but holds, revealing a little more of that steel that defines her. She stands straight, tall, waiting; like a widow at a funeral, watching as the casket gets lowered into the earth.

It's not that he hasn't thought about it. He'd made up his mind half a dozen times on the way over - and it's usually the price that's paid when someone pulls shit like this.

But he remembers the look in her eyes at the warehouse, the way her voice had wavered before holding strong, and he thinks that the usual doesn't apply here.

_(“What is that you're always saying about rotten eggs and how to handle them?”)_

He lets out a low laugh, shaking his head, at her, at himself.

“Me? I'm not killing anybody.”

He leans in, laying the gun on the table and watches as her eyes focus on it, hold steady.

“Nah, darling. You are.”

They're teetering on a knife's edge as he thumbs off the safety, palming the familiar grip before sending it skittering down the table towards her.   It stops half an inch before it reaches the edge, muzzle towards him, and he pushes back, waits to see what she'll do with it.

Her eyes flicker between his and the weapon, and she hesitates for only a moment before reaching for it, turning it on him, pulling the hammer back.

His pulse quickens in his throat as he leans back into the curve of the wicker, lets his posture open, relax.

“So, what’d you think? You got what it takes?”

The steel in her gaze solidifies, her grip steadying on the gun, and for a moment, he thinks she might.

\--

“What _are_ you doing, Elizabeth?”

She doesn't take the shot. She won't, he can read it in her hesitation, the slight tremor of her grip; besides, he's faced enough muzzles at this point to know the difference.

“I just want this to be over.”

The moment slows, muting the rush of blood in his ears, the thundering pulse in his veins that's been humming through him since he stepped inside the house.

He glances back to where her husband sits, his ego as bruised and bloody as his face, and the juxtaposition of his violence with her life echoes in the space between them, puts the steel back in his jaw as he turns back to face her.

She's still got the gun on him, her finger poised over the trigger, but he's under no illusion that she's ready to pull that trigger now.

“Then let's end it.”

She lets out a slow, shaky breath as he moves in towards her, carefully telegraphing his movements. He steps up into her personal space and nudges the barrel of the gun aside, hushing her like he did when Marcus was small.

“It's okay,” he says and means it, as he eases the gun from her hand, palming the grip as he looks at her and she looks at him and she breathes; in, out.

She’s trembling, open and broken, soft in all the ways that he is not, and you know, he gets it. The fight or flight, the instinctive gut reaction to protect what's hers - she's got kids, a handful of little lives depending on her, and yeah, he gets why she did it.

He gentles his voice, raising his hand to brush her hair back from her face.

“You did your best.”

But it's not just his life that she's trying to fuck with, not just him that's going down for this, and he has his own to protect.

She's vulnerable in that moment, holding her breath as he traces the curve of her cheek, and he makes sure that she’s watching, that he has her whole attention when he turns and makes the shot.

It's over in half a breath, and then he turns back to face her, catches the change in her expression as she crumples in on herself.

(He’ll remember, later, the way her eyes had widened, the way her features had creased with shock and pain as she clutched her stomach like he'd driven the bullet into her instead-)

She lets out a short, sharp exhale, as if all the air had left her lungs in that single, shrill scream, and her eyes are wide and blue when they meet his again, swimming with pain and grief.

“Now we're good, darling.”

And it's just business. An eye for an eye. A father for a father. He waits a beat for the recognition in her eyes, feels a grim satisfaction when he gets it and turns away, point made.

He leaves out the back, hears the clatter of the screen door against the frame, abrupt and loud in the sedate calm of suburbia.

He doesn't look back

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at my tumblr (ejunkiet) and gush about brio with me!


End file.
